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Leave It to Psmith April 12, , Vintage. Audio Cassette in English - Unabridged edition. Leave it to Psmith , Folio Society. Leave it to Psmith , Hutchinson. Leave it to Psmith , Barrie and Jenkins. Leave it to Psmith , Vintage Books. The book was published in multiple languages including English, consists of pages and is available in Paperback format.
The book has been awarded with , and many others. Please note that the tricks or techniques listed in this pdf are either fictional or claimed to work by its creator. We do not guarantee that these techniques will work for you. Some of the techniques listed in Leave It to Psmith may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them.
DMCA and Copyright : The book is not hosted on our servers, to remove the file please contact the source url. He not only wrote about this glorious British pastime, but also played it well, appearing six times at Lords, where his first captain was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Illustrated with wonderful drawings and contemporary score-sheets, Wodehouse at the Wicket is the first ever compendium of Wodehouse's writings on cricket.
Edited by cricket historian Murray Hedgcock, this delightful book also contains fascinating facts about Wodehouse's cricketing career and how it is reflected in his work. The perfect gift for Wodehouse readers and fans of all things cricket. Wodehouse should be prescribed to treat depression. This is the first Blandings novel, In whuch P. Wodehouse intorduces us to the delightfully dotty Lord Emsworth, his bone-headed younger son, the Hon.
Freddie Threepwood, his log-suffering secretary, the Efficient Baxter, and Beach the Blandings butler. As Wodehouse wrote, 'without at least one imposter on the premises, Blandings Castle is never itself'. In Something Fresh there are two, each with an eye on a valuable Egytian amulet which Lord Emsworth has acquired without quite realizing how it came into his pocket. But of course things get a lot more complicated than this But it doesn't please its current occupier, J.
Wellington Gedge. Mr Gedge wants none of it - and particularly none of the domineering Mrs Gedge's imperious wish that he should become American Ambassador to Paris. Instead he pines for the simpler life of California, where men are men and filling stations stand tall.
Mrs Gedge has powerful allies - including the prohibitionist Senator Opal. But will she get her way? And will the Senator's delightful daughter Jane get her man? In a plot which involves safe-blowers, con men, jewel-thieves and even a Bloomsbury novelist, few are quite as they seem. But the heady atmosphere of France in the s makes for one of Wodehouse's most delightful comedies.
A Mulliner collection In the bar-parlour of the Angler's Rest, Mr Mulliner tells his amazing tales, which hold his audience of drinkers referred to only as Pints of Stout and Whiskies-and-Splash in the palm of his expressive hand. Here you can discover what happened to The Man Who Gave Up Smoking, share a frisson when the butler delivers Something Squishy on a silver salver 'Your serpent, Sir,' said the voice of Simmons - and experience the dreadful Unpleasantness at Bludleigh Court.
Throughout the Mulliner clan remains resourcefully in command in the most outlandish situations, making for a vintage collection of hilarious Wodehouse. In its inner sanctum is kept the Book of Revelations, where the less than perfect habits of their employers are lovingly recorded.
The book is, of course, pure dynamite. So what happens when it disappears into potentially hostile hands? Tossed about in the resulting whirlwind you'll find lots of Wodehouse's favourite characters - and a welcome return to Market Snodsbury, in the middle of one of the most chaotic elections of modern times.
In his right eye there was a monocle, and through this he looked down at her with a grave friendliness. He said nothing further, but, taking her fingers, clasped them round the handle of the umbrella, which he had obligingly opened, and then with a courteous bow proceeded to dash with long strides across the road, disappearing through the doorway of a gloomy building [p. A good many surprising things had happened to Eve since first she had come to live in London, but nothing quite so surprising as this.
For several minutes she stood where she was without moving, staring round-eyed at the building opposite. The episode was, however, apparently ended. The young man did not reappear. He did not even show himself at the window. The club had swallowed him up. Eve passed in through the general waiting-room with [p. There is not a single place that you could possibly take. What is to be done? No news at all from her husband.
He has simply deserted her. I have persuaded her to go down to Brighton for a day or two. I think the sea air will pick her up. So much better than mooning about in a London hotel. I gave her your love, and she was most grateful that you should have remembered your old friendship and be sorry for her in her affliction.
I think she would be glad to hear from you, dear. Eve looked sadly at the framed testimonials which decorated the wall. She was not often melancholy, but it was such a beast of a day and all her friends seemed to be having such a bad time. Poor little Phyllis! Of course, it must sound funny hearing me pitying people for having no money. Poor dear father always seemed to be writing an article against time, with creditors scratching earnestly at the door.
I went to the door and found an indignant man with a blue paper. I prattled so prettily and innocently that he not only went away quite contentedly but actually patted me on the head and gave me a penny. I bought father a diamond ring with it at a shop down the street, I [p. At least I thought it was a diamond. They may have swindled me, for I was very young. If only there were no hats or safety bets in the world, I should be smugly opulent.
Good-bye, darling. Meanwhile, at the Drones Club, a rather painful scene had been taking place. Psmith, regaining the shelter of the building, had made his way to the wash-room, where, having studied his features with interest for a moment in the mirror, he smoothed his hair, which the rain had somewhat disordered, and brushed his clothes with extreme care.
He then went to the cloak-room for his hat. The attendant regarded him as he entered with the air of one whose mind is not wholly at rest. Always somewhere. Now here, now there. There must be no reservations, no subterfuges between you and Comrade Walderwick. Let all be open and above-board. He went off to find you.
He left the cloak-room and made for the hall, where he desired the porter to procure him a cab. This having drawn up in front of the club, he descended the steps and was about to enter it, when there was a hoarse cry in his rear, and through the front door there came bounding a pinkly indignant youth, who called loudly:. I fear this club is becoming very mixed, Comrade Walderwick. You with your pure mind would hardly believe the rottenness of some of the umbrellas I inspected in the cloak-room.
You turn to the left as you go in at the main entrance and. I gave it to a young lady in the street. Where she is at the present moment I could not say. You would not speak of her in that light fashion if you had seen her. Comrade Walderwick, she was wonderful!
I am a plain, blunt, rugged man, above the softer emotions as a general thing, but I frankly confess that she stirred a chord in me which is not often stirred. She thrilled my battered old heart, Comrade Walderwick.
There is no other word. Thrilled it! I am sorry to have been the means of depriving you of an excellent umbrella, but as you will readily understand I had no alternative. It was raining. She was over there, crouched despairingly beneath the awning of that shop. She wanted to be elsewhere, but the moisture lay in wait to damage her hat.
What could I do? What could any man worthy of the name do but go down to the cloak-room and pinch the best umbrella in sight and take it to her? Yours was easily the best. There was absolutely no comparison. I gave it to her, and she has gone off with it, happy once more. You have lost your umbrella, Comrade Walderwick, but in what a cause!
In what a cause, Comrade Walderwick! The latter is perhaps the closer historical parallel. He spread his cloak to keep a queen from wetting her feet. Posterity will be proud of you, Comrade Walderwick. I shall be vastly surprised if you do not go down in legend and song. Children in ages to come [p. But now, as I see that the driver has started his meter, I fear I must conclude this little chat—which I, for one, have heartily enjoyed. The cab moved off. Hugo Walderwick, after one passionate glance in its wake, realised that he was getting wet and went back into the club.
Arriving at the address named, Psmith paid his cab and, having mounted the stairs, delicately knuckled the ground-glass window of Enquiries. Perhaps I could see her anon? You will find me in the waiting-room when required. He was absorbed in this when Eve came out of the private office.
But you took my breath away. These constant checks are trying to an ardent spirit. Perhaps you are a young bride come to engage her first cook? Eve found his relieved thankfulness a little embarrassing. In the momentary pause which followed his remark, Enquiries entered alertly. I will send it back to you to-night if you will give me the name and address.
A slight confusion of ideas. No, I am not Mr. And between ourselves I should hate to be. His is a very C3 intelligence. Comrade Walderwick is merely the man to whom the umbrella belongs.
Other people are content to talk about the Redistribution of Property. I go out and do it. And it was pretty to see his delight. I explained the circumstances, and he was charmed to have been of service to you. The door opened again, and this time it was Miss Clarkson in person who entered. But thanks ever so much for bothering. She smiled affectionately upon the proprietress, bestowed another smile upon Psmith as he opened the door for her, and went out.
Psmith turned away from the door with a thoughtful look upon his face. She is a Miss Halliday, the daughter of a very clever but erratic writer, who died some years ago. I can speak with particular knowledge of Miss Halliday, for I was for many years an assistant mistress at Wayland House, where she was at school. She is a charming, warm-hearted, impulsive girl. But you will hardly want to hear all this.
You have stumbled upon my favourite subject. Miss Clarkson eyed him a little doubtfully, and decided that it would be best to reintroduce the business theme. What exactly are you looking for? And those framed testimonials would convince the most sceptical. Yes, Miss Clarkson, I want a job, and I feel somehow that you are the woman to find it for me.
I have inserted an advertisement in the papers, expressing my readiness to undertake any form of employment, but I have since begun to wonder if after all this will lead to wealth and fame.
At any rate, it is wise to attack the great world from another angle as well, so I come to you. Psmith squinted, not without complacency, down a faultlessly fitting waistcoat, and flicked another speck of dust off his sleeve.
Well, well, perhaps you are right, perhaps you are right. But consider, Miss Clarkson. If one expects to find employment in these days of strenuous competition, one must be neatly and decently clad. Employers look askance at a baggy trouser-leg.
A zippy waistcoat is more to them than an honest heart. This beautiful crease was obtained with the aid of the mattress upon which I tossed feverishly last night in my attic room.
Miss Clarkson brooded over this for a moment in almost pained silence, then recovered her slipping grip of affairs. Let us start at the beginning. My infancy. When I was but a babe, my eldest sister was bribed with sixpence an hour by my nurse to keep an eye on me and see that I did not raise Cain. At the end of the first day she struck for a shilling, and got it.
We now pass to my boyhood. At an early age I was sent to Eton, everybody predicting a bright career for me. Those were happy days, Miss Clarkson. A merry, laughing lad with curly hair and a sunny smile, it is not too much to say that I was the pet of the place.
The old cloisters. But I am boring you. I can see it in your eye. I thought you might have had [p. In fact, what sort of work. He insisted on my going into the business to learn it from the bottom up, thinking, no doubt, that I would follow in his footsteps and eventually work my way to the position of a Whitebait Wizard.
I may say at once that there ensued something in the nature of a family earthquake. Unseemly wrangle. And the upshot of it all was that my uncle [p. Hence my anxiety to find employment. My uncle has definitely withdrawn his countenance from me, Miss Clarkson. He is a hard man, and he judges his fellows solely by their devotion to fish. I never in my life met a man so wrapped up in a subject.
For years he has been practically a monomaniac on the subject of fish. So much so that he actually looks like one. But I am boring you again with this family gossip?
I am only too well aware that, when fairly launched on the topic of fish, I am more than apt to weary my audience. I cannot understand this enthusiasm for fish. My uncle used to talk about an unusually large catch of pilchards in Cornwall in much the same awed way as a right-minded curate would talk about the spiritual excellence of his bishop.
To me, Miss Clarkson, from the very start, the fish business was what I can only describe as a wash-out. It nauseated my finer feelings. It got right in amongst my fibres. I had to rise and partake of a simple breakfast at about four in the morning, after which I would make my way to Billingsgate Market and stand for some hours knee-deep in dead fish of every description. A jolly life for a cat, [p. Mine, Miss Clarkson, is a refined and poetic nature. I like to be surrounded by joy and life, and I know nothing more joyless and deader than a dead fish.
Multiply that dead fish by a million, and you have an environment which only a Dante could contemplate with equanimity. My uncle used to tell me that the way to ascertain whether a fish was fresh was to peer into its eyes. Could I spend the springtime of life staring into the eyes of dead fish? Thank you for the unfailing courtesy and attention with which you have listened to me. You can understand now why my talents are on the market and why I am compelled to state specifically that no employment can be considered which has anything to do with fish.
I am convinced that you will shortly have something particularly good to offer me. My search for the remaining issues proved fruitless. I feared as much. Well, good morning, Miss Clarkson, good morning. I leave my future in your hands with a light heart. He closed the door gently behind him, and went out. I give the information without prejudice, for what it is worth. Good day! The rain had stopped when Psmith stepped out into the street, and the sun was shining again in that half blustering, half apologetic manner which it affects on its reappearance after a summer shower.
The pavements glistened cheerfully, and the air had a welcome freshness. Pausing at the corner, he pondered for a moment as to the best method of passing the hour and twenty minutes which must elapse before he could reasonably think of lunching.
The fact that the offices of the Morning Globe were within easy strolling distance decided him to go thither and see if the first post had brought anything in the shape of answers to his advertisements. And his energy was rewarded a few minutes later when Box on being opened yielded up quite a little budget of literary matter. No fewer than seven letters in all. A nice bag. What, however, had appeared at first sight evidence of a pleasing ebullition of enterprise on the part of the newspaper-reading public turned out on closer inspection, when he had retired to a corner where he could concentrate in peace, a hollow delusion.
Enterprising in a sense though the communications were—and they certainly showed the writers as men of considerable ginger and business push—to Psmith they came as a disappointment. He had expected better things. These [p. They missed the point altogether. The right spirit, it seemed to him, was entirely absent. The first envelope, attractive though it looked from the outside, being of an expensive brand of stationery and gaily adorned with a somewhat startling crest merely contained a pleasantly-worded offer from a Mr.
Alistair MacDougall to advance him any sum from ten to fifty thousand pounds on his note of hand only. The second revealed a similar proposal from another Scot named Colin MacDonald.
While in the third Mr. Ian Campbell was prepared to go as high as one hundred thousand. All three philanthropists had but one stipulation to make—they would have no dealings with minors. Youth, with all its glorious traditions, did not seem to appeal to them.
But they cordially urged Psmith, in the event of his having celebrated his twenty-first birthday, to come round to the office and take the stuff away in a sack. Keeping his head well in the midst of this shower of riches, Psmith dropped the three letters with a sigh into the waste-paper basket, and opened the next in order.
There now remained only Number Seven, and a slight flicker of hope returned to him when he perceived that this envelope was addressed by hand and not in typescript. He opened it. Beyond a doubt he had kept the pick of the bunch to the last. Here was something that made up for all those other disappointments. Written in a scrawly and apparently agitated hand, the letter ran as follows:. Psmith will meet the writer in the lobby of the Piccadilly Palace Hotel at twelve sharp, Friday, July 1, business may result if business meant and terms reasonable.
It was much more the sort of thing for which he had been hoping. He preferred his humanity eccentric. Whether this promising person turned out to be a ribald jester or an earnest crank, Psmith felt no doubt whatever as to the advisability of following the matter up. Psmith glanced at his watch. The hour was a quarter to twelve. He would be able to secure the necessary chrysanthemum and reach the Piccadilly Palace Hotel by twelve sharp, thus achieving the businesslike punctuality on which the unknown writer seemed to set such store.
The first of these was the chrysanthemum. Preoccupied with the rest of the communication, Psmith, when he had read the letter, had not given much thought to the decoration which it would be necessary for him to wear; and it was only when, in reply to his demand for a chrysanthemum, the florist came forward, almost hidden, like the army at Dunsinane, behind what looked like a small shrubbery, that he realised what he, a correct and fastidious dresser, was up against.
Psmith regarded the repellent object with disfavour through his eyeglass. Then, having placed it in his buttonhole, he proceeded on his way, feeling like some wild thing peering through the undergrowth.
The distressing shrub completely spoiled his walk. Arrived at the hotel and standing in the lobby, he perceived the existence of further complications.
The lobby was in its usual state of congestion, it being a recognised meeting-place for those who did not find it [p. This he accordingly did, but when at the end of ten minutes nothing had happened beyond a series of collisions with perhaps a dozen hurrying visitors to the hotel, he decided on a more active course. A young man of sporting appearance had been standing beside him for the last five minutes, and ever and anon this young man had glanced with some impatience at his watch.
He was plainly waiting for someone, so Psmith tried the formula on him. The young man looked at him, not without interest, certainly, but without that gleam of intelligence in his eye which Psmith had hoped to see. He then withdrew rapidly to intercept a young woman in a large hat who had just come through the swing doors. Psmith was forced to the conclusion that this was not his man.
He was sorry on the whole, for he had seemed a pleasant fellow. As Psmith had taken up a stationary position and [p. This was a jovial-looking soul with a flowered waistcoat, a white hat, and a mottled face. Just the man who might have written that letter. A light of the utmost friendliness shone in his beautifully-shaven face as he turned. He had the air of a man who has found a friend, and what is more, an old friend. Face familiar as the dickens, of course.
Well, well, well! And how are they all? He slapped Psmith on the shoulder. But he persevered. Forgot to give me my note-case. I can send it round to your hotel or wherever you are this evening when I get home. The white hat disappeared through the swing doors, and Psmith returned to his quest. He engaged the attention of a middle-aged man in a snuff-coloured suit who had just come within hail. Psmith was beginning to lose the unruffled calm which made him such an impressive figure to the public eye.
He had not taken into consideration the possibility that the object of his search might be deaf. It undoubtedly added to the embarrassment of the pursuit.
He was moving away, when a hand fell on his sleeve. Psmith turned. The hand which still grasped his sleeve belonged to an elegantly dressed young man of somewhat nervous and feverish appearance. During his recent vigil Psmith had noticed this young man standing not far away, and had had half a mind to include him in the platoon of new friends he was making that morning.
Since when, I have been standing like Patience on a monument. I should have imagined that that was a fact that the most casual could hardly have overlooked. Psmith removed the chrysanthemum and dropped it behind his chair. He looked at his companion reproachfully. I cannot begin to tell you the spiritual agony I suffered, trailing through the metropolis behind that shrub. Whatever decent sympathy and remorse the other might have shown at these words was swept away in the shock resultant on a glance at his watch.
If he missed it, there would be the deuce of a lot of unpleasantness, and unpleasantness in the home was the one thing Freddie wanted to avoid nowadays; for, like a prudent convict in a prison, he [p. Got to talk quick. About this thing. This business. That advertisement of yours. I got the impression from your advertisement that you were down and out and ready for anything, and you look as if you were on your way to a garden-party at Buckingham Palace.
This is the second time this morning that such a misunderstanding has occurred. Have no misgivings. These trousers may sit well, but, if they do, it is because the pockets are empty. His companion remained silent for a few moments. In spite of the fact that he was in so great a hurry and that every minute that passed brought nearer the moment when he would be compelled to tear himself away and make a dash for Paddington Station, Freddie [p.
I have, indeed, already been compelled to decline to lend a gentleman who claimed to be an old friend of mine so small a sum as a fiver.
But there is a dear, obliging soul of the name of Alistair MacDougall who. How do you propose to start about it? I am stumped.
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